


An Excellent Palate

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bananas, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, John Watson Experiments on Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Sherlock has an excellent palate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 01:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12519716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: John and Sherlock have just embarked on a sexual relationship, but Sherlock's doing things a little differently. John decides to change just one variable and see if his boyfriend notices.





	An Excellent Palate

“Christ, Sherlock!”

The subject of this outburst was not present, which probably saved John from having to explain why he was snooping in Sherlock’s bedroom. ‘I was looking for my laptop again, you twat’ would not have distracted Sherlock from the fact that John was reading the journal he’d found under the mattress.

Initially, John had sniggered to himself, picturing Sherlock as a fifteen year old, hiding dirty magazines he’d pilfered from his Dad. The smirk had slid from his face when he’d flicked through the first few pages, the only ones covered in Sherlock’s scribbly writing. A lot of practice meant John could kind-of read the scrawl, but certain phrases still jumped out at him.

_Positive response to stimulus…_

_…Monday, 9.23am, climbed into my lap. Frottage, manual stimulus…_

_…oral stimulus, firm pressure on perineum elicits…_

_Significantly increased volume of ejaculate…_

_…12.04am to 1.17am…_

John shook his head in disbelief. Sherlock was keeping a diary of their sexual relationship. It had only been a few weeks – oh, he could look it up, he was holding _a bloody_ journal! Twenty three days, it turned out, since they’d returned from catching the forger red handed, out of breath and flushed with success. Twenty three days since they had slumped against the wall downstairs grinning breathlessly at each other. Twenty three _glorious_ days since John had finally succumbed to the urge, leaning up and pressing his lips to Sherlock’s. Five hundred and fifty two glorious hours since they had stumbled up the stairs towards their new relationship. John read more closely, his face heating as flashes of memory accompanied the words before his eyes. Flicking to the end of the book, a single column on the last page caught his eye. Frowning, John read the list, then again before he realised what it meant.

“You’re kidding me.” He breathed, the warmth in his face increasing despite his solitude. On autopilot, John returned the journal to its place, before hesitating and retrieving it. Sherlock would certainly notice if it was slightly out of place; better it be part of the general mess of John’s irritated search for his laptop. Pulling clothes out, shifting pairs of socks and generally messing things around gave John great satisfaction, and he actually found several items he’d been missing in the process. A better cover story, then, he thought to himself, clutching his camera and laptop as he left Sherlock’s bedroom. Later, as Sherlock stormed around his bedroom, talking to himself and replacing his belongings, John smirked. He had a plan, and it would be both interesting and amusing to see if Sherlock caught on.

 

_Monday-Thursday – variable #1_

John groaned, the feeling in his toes finally returning as the blinding orgasm subsided. He leaned back against the headboard, fingers stroking Sherlock’s hair.

“Mmmmm.” Sherlock hummed contentedly to himself. John pulled him up and kissed him thoroughly; he’d never been averse to the taste of himself on his lovers’ mouths, and Sherlock was no exception. _Earthier, less bitter than usual,_ John noted to himself and Sherlock hasn’t said anything. Okay.

_Friday-Monday – variable #2_

Gasping, John thrust into the wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth, the press of a thumb against his perineum pushing him over the edge. His hips stuttered as he came hard, pulling out a little so he striped at least once across Sherlock’s cheek. When his body relaxed from its orgasmic rigor, John dropped to his knees, nose to nose with Sherlock. They kissed, Sherlock swiping one thumb across his own cheek, collecting the come and pressing it into John’s mouth. John wrapped his tongue around the wide digit, tasting himself with relish. _Sweeter_ , _much sweeter,_ John thought absently. He was a bit distracted by Sherlock rutting against his leg so he hoped he would remember the difference in taste.

 

_Tuesday-Friday – variable #3_

Sherlock’s hand moved over John’s cock, slick and hot, as they panted into the same air, warming the space between them. They were both fighting to keep quiet as the back alley was hardly private; the sight of John dressing down their suspect, grilling him about his story and picking it apart like an expert had been too much for Sherlock. The moment Lestrade had dismissed them, John had found himself dragged into the alleyway, Sherlock’s hand fumbling with his flies as his tongue danced in John’s ear. In moments, John was coming over Sherlock’s hand and against the filthy wall of the building next door. Sherlock raised his hand, licking his fingers enthusiastically. John joined him, their tongues tangling around the length of Sherlock’s fingers. _Less bitter, not as sweet as the pineapple,_ John decided, making one last swipe up Sherlock’s ring finger with his tongue. Sherlock still hadn’t said anything about the varying tastes, so now it was time for the kicker…

 

_Saturday-Tuesday – variable #4_

John had deliberately taken several double shifts at work, even sleeping over in the ER’s call room one night so he could avoid Sherlock as much as possible. He’d brought in a favour, too, having several cold cases delivered to Sherlock as a distraction. By Tuesday night, when John returned to Baker Street, he knew Sherlock would have noticed the lack of sex – and probably be aching for it. John had restrained himself too, though a couple of quick wanks in the shower had been unavoidable when he thought about Sherlock and the reception he was likely to get on Tuesday night.

“Sher-OOF!”

Sherlock’s enthusiastic response exceeded what John had imagined; he was barely inside the front door of 221 when Sherlock had tackled him back against the door, slamming it hard against the cold outside air.

“Oh…Sher-Sherlock…what about…Sher-!” John gasped as Sherlock’s mouth latched onto his neck, kissing and sucking on the spots he knew drove John wild.

“She’s…out for…the…evening, John.” Sherlock explained between kisses, correctly anticipating his concern about Mrs. Hudson walking in on them. Without further foreplay, Sherlock dropped to his knees, pressing his face to the bulge already making itself known in John’s groin. His hands grasped John’s arse, pressing it forward so John could feel his mouth even through the light fabric of his work trousers. John groaned, allowing his head to loll back, thudding against the door. _Less foreplay than he’d thought, but nevertheless, this was perfect_ , John managed to think before Sherlock wiped all cohesive thought from his head. He felt the orgasm building, fast and strong as Sherlock sucked relentlessly on his cock. His balls were tight and full after two days abstinence, and when Sherlock enveloped them in one hand, tugging gently, John dropped abruptly over the edge, grasping futilely at the wall as his knees trembled.

“Fuck!” John gasped when he was able to breathe again. Sherlock was still on his knees and John’s face was pointed at the ceiling as his lungs burned; it wasn’t until he registered the ongoing silence that John looked down.

“Sherlock?” John asked. Sherlock was frowning, his hand wiping absently across his mouth. Their eyes met, and as John was about to ask him what was wrong, Sherlock stood and kissed him hard, tongue thrusting into John’s mouth, pushing the taste of him across…

“Oh.” John choked out, pulling out of the kiss. _Sour, bitter, quite unpleasant_ , he registered. Yuck.

“You read my journal.” Sherlock said flatly.

“I was looking for my camera,” John said pointedly, then deflated as he admitted, “but yes, I read your journal. Christ Sherlock, it was…weird to read so much detail about me. Us.” He shrugged self-consciously.

“You’ve been eating foods to improve the taste of your semen.” Sherlock stated.

“Yes.” John replied. “I didn’t think you’d noticed, so I went the other way.”

“Of course I noticed, John.” Sherlock replied, clearly affronted. “I notice everything about you.”

“Really.” John tried for a more teasing tone, hoping to head off an argument or sulk-fest before it got started. “Can you tell me what I’ve been eating the last few days, then?”

“Asparagus.” Sherlock said immediately. “And before that cinnamon, pineapple and citrus.”

John was impressed. “You have a good palate,” he said admiringly.

“Yes, I do.” Sherlock replied ass though it was obvious.

“There was one more thing on my list. It’s a good one.” John hastened to add. “Perhaps, if you can wait another few days, you could test your skills again, see if you can figure it out.”

Sherlock looked calculatingly at John. “It will only work if I have no other indications of your diet.”

John nodded. “Of course, I’ll do the same thing I’ve been, um, I’ll eat at work, and brush my teeth after, you won’t even notice.”

Sherlock considered. “Sunday, then?”

John nodded.

“One stipulation.” Sherlock added before they started up the stairs. John raised one eyebrow. “a little reciprocity wouldn’t go astray.” He indicated his painfully tight pants, and John grinned, dropping happily to his knees to return the favour. Four days, and they’d see how Sherlock's palate went on this last challenge.

 

_Wednesday-Sunday – variable #5_

“Good morning, John.” Sherlock was remarkably restrained, John thought, considering that today was the day they’d be testing how John’s diet had affected the taste of his semen. He’d slept poorly, wishing he could have a wank to relax but not wanting to be less than ready to go in the morning. And now here was Sherlock, wandering in wearing nothing but a sheet, looking as though sex was the last thing on his mind. John gritted his teeth, the mere presence of Sherlock making his cock twitch enthusiastically. As much as he wanted to be equally casual about it, there was every chance he’d come in his trousers, what with Sherlock now draping himself over the couch, one slim white thigh tilted out, allowing the sheet to ride alarmingly – or enticingly – up towards his groin. His eyes were closed, brow slightly furrowed. John knew from experience that it could take an explosion to stir him from such a state. An explosion, or…

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was vaguely reprimanding when the soft head of John’s cock ran down his temple. It had started as an experiment the previous week, John wondering exactly how far he could go before Sherlock roused himself from his mind palace. He’d managed to completely undress and found himself standing over Sherlock, naked and with a growing erection literally in hand. A few moments of contemplative stroking, feeling himself growing harder, John had stifled a grin, gripped the base of his cock and stroked the side of Sherlock’s face. As it turned out, inappropriate touching without consent was the key to drawing Sherlock back to reality. It wouldn’t be useful all the time, like when they had company, but John still filed it away for future use.

And now it was useful again, though even more so. Sherlock was looking at John now, holding perfectly still as the soft skin on his face was caressed by the velveteen of John’s cock. Seeing those eyes lock on his sent a shot of adrenaline through John, and he swallowed back a moan, watching the slick trail of pre-come appear on the side of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock must have felt it, because he turned his head, tongue sliding out the side of his mouth towards the meandering path of John’s cock. John obliged, changing his trajectory towards Sherlock’s waiting mouth. He wiped the new bead of pre-come against the broad flat of Sherlock’s tongue, shivering at the contact. The wet muscle drew back into Sherlock’s mouth, where he considered the taste.

“Need more data,” he murmured. John grinned, slipping the head of his cock between Sherlock’s lips, sighing at the contact. For a few moments Sherlock allowed John’s cock to rub across his lips and mouth, not seeking anything further. Without warning, John felt Sherlock’s tongue flick out, tracing the line of his slit. It was slow and teasing, and Sherlock showed no intention of increasing pace. When John felt his hips trembling with the effort to hold still, he pulled back to give himself room before swinging one leg over Sherlock, settling on his chest. Sherlock’s mouth curved in a smile, but as he opened his mouth to speak, John took the opportunity to fill the void. He ran his cock along the roof of Sherlock’s mouth, grateful as always for Sherlock’s lack of gag reflex. His musings on Sherlock’s oral prowess came to an abrupt halt when sensation overwhelmed him. He dimly noted fingers on his balls, a thumb pressing behind; suction against his cock, hard and fast; and a tongue sweeping over the length of his cock. Groaning, John thrust gently until another hand grabbed his arse, encouraging him to press further into Sherlock’s mouth. He did so, feeling the wetness extend even further down his cock. John’s head was thrown back now, hand gripping the back of the sofa; he could feel Sherlock everywhere, wet and hot and fast. When the thumb massaging his perineum slid further back, John felt his balls tighten and the burst of starlight through his body, hips jerking forward as he came hard down Sherlock’s throat. His arched back was almost painful in its rigor; only when he’d stopped spurting could he relax, collapsing half off Sherlock, conscious enough not to smother him.

“Fuck,” John gasped. Two days off had made him both overly sensitive and incredibly responsive; he knew he’d been shouting and had lasted an embarrassingly short time. None of that mattered in his deliriously calm post-orgasmic state, though. He closed his eyes, enjoying the lazy warmth flowing through his body. The tension he’d been carrying around was gone, and when he could open his eyes, John saw Sherlock smirking at him.

“I was right.” Sherlock said smugly.

John rolled his eyes. “Proof?” was all he could manage. Sherlock’s smirk grew even wider, and he wriggled one hand down into the folds of his makeshift toga. When it re-emerged, it pressed a bottle into John’s hand.

“Lube,” John read, “Banana flavoured.” He grinned at Sherlock, who looked so pleased with himself it was somewhere between adorable and sickening.

“I have a proposal for an experiment, John,” Sherlock’s face had lit up, even beyond the flush of his own post-sex appearance. It seemed the bananas had given him some ideas.

“Hang on,” John replied, starting to work on removing the toga.

“Reciprocity, remember?”


End file.
